


Brands of Desire

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Asexual Character, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Movie(s), Post-Series, San Francisco, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 02:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5317625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is finally getting used to living in San Francisco, but finds that his dates with Antonia aren't keeping his attention. Meanwhile, Spock is acting distant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brands of Desire

When he takes a ground-posting again, Jim is afraid that he's going to experience the same horrible mix of lethargy and spine-throbbing agitation that led him on a half-suicidal quest to pirate a starship over a decade before. He takes an apartment just off the grounds of Starfleet Academy and sometimes lays awake waiting for the old restlessness to seize him. Half-dreading the sensation of the world slipping by while he is stuck, chained, drifting.

But usually, it is not a problem for Jim to fall asleep. Because he is tired.

Jim is old – older – and he starts to determine that this is alright. He still has his curiosity, his interests, his intelligence, and in comparison the creaking in his knees doesn't seem so important anymore. His blood will always burn for the stars, but now that longing has faded to a manageable simmer.

And it helps that some things have remained constants.

“Admiral. Have you finished with your preparations for the conference?”

Jim smiles faintly at the formality of this question. He is walking across the Academy green and stops abruptly as a few stray papers fall from his arms; a pale hand, bony and jutting with green veins, reaching out to catch them.

“Yes, I think so. Don't tell me that you walked all the way across campus to ask me that, Spock – I hope I haven't become quite that undependable in my old age.”

“I would not call you old, Sir,” Spock demurs. “ - Wizened, perhaps.”

Jim snorts incredulously. “And that's supposed to be better!”

Spock pulls the hard-copy files and a datapadd from Jim's arms, ignoring his insincere protests. The Vulcan looks at the antiquated leafs of paper with something like exasperation, but doesn't comment. “Then if you are ready, we can begin looking over those records - “

“Oh, now?” Jim pauses. “Yes, I don't think I'm busy. Why not.”

They turn around and start to walk in the direction of Spock's office across the campus. “Now, maybe you can clear something up about that statement from the midshipman we're looking into - “

Jim snorts and shakes his head fondly.

“Admiral?”

He tilts his head, and Spock follows the direction of this gesture to see two students across the green standing far, far too close. The young women are embracing passionately, arms entangled. One, who Spock recognizes as a Betazoid cadet from one of his classes, thrusts her hands into the hair of her companion. They both twist around where they stand, futilely, as though searching for greater purchase as they kiss.

“Well,” Jim says, voice laced with amusement. “At least someone's having fun – although maybe a bit too much fun for public eyes. Do you think we need to be the bad guys and tell them to lay off?”

Spock is quiet for a moment. Jim turns fully to face him.

“Spock?”

The Vulcan stirs. “If so I believe I should do it, Sir. I believe they may... doubt the sincerity of your reprimand.”

“Spock!” Jim sputters, laughing. “Are you implying something?”

“Jim?”

They both look around. “Antonia!” Jim says, surprised. “ - Well, I am popular today.” he steps around Spock. “What are you doing here? You didn't tell me you were visiting San Francisco.”

Antonia walks over swiftly; her high brown hair bobs in the breeze. “I was in town on business - and i wanted to surprise you,” she declares. “But you'd left your office already.”

“Did I? That's the problem with surprises; sometimes you get surprised back.” He smiles to show he's teasing. Spock nods his greeting to Antonia but says nothing. Jim has been dating her for a year, and the two are acquainted.

“I was going to suggest we go to that new Tellarite diner a few blocks from here – but I think they close in an hour. That weird schedule Tellarites have – unless you're ready now?”

“Oh. I - “ Jim hesitates, glancing at the datapadds in Spock's arms.

Spock saves him the struggle. “We can reschedule, Admiral. It is no trouble.”

“You're sure?”

“There is little enough left to prepare.”

“Well, alright.”

Antonia beams. “You're a doll, Captain.” She comes up to take Jim's arm and walk him away.

* * *

 

The restaurant atmosphere feels strange, but maybe that's because Jim's still in his uniform. The heat is oppressive, and he tugs at his collar and undoes a few buttons. He keeps feeling like he's forgetting something. His mind drifts back to the paperwork in Spock's arms, which is ridiculous. The work will still be there in the morning.

Anyway, Antonia is good company, as always. So that's something.

“I kept telling my sister not to go, but would she listen to me?” Antonia is saying. “Of course not. What a waste. I don't know what she thinks to do off-planet – her whole life was here.”

“Maybe she wants to get some experience,” says Jim absently. He's scrutinizing a complementary dish that comes free with the meals. The server gave them the option to waive it, but Jim was curious. The tiny black lumps seem vaguely insect-like and Jim thinks they might be twitching.

“Experience for what? She's a sculptor. She can stick her hands in clay here as well as anywhere else in the galaxy. Some people, really.”

“Hmm,” Jim says. He spears one of the insects with his fork to watch it wiggle.

Hopefully it won't crawl going down.

* * *

 

Jim teaches three classes at the Academy – two advanced Command classes and, somewhat bizarrely, a basic engineering class. He argued about the last one with the Board until it actually started. It turns out that he remembers more about his days crawling through the ship's innards than he thought, and his years as a captain only cemented this knowledge of his ship. Of course, maybe 1000-level engineering is just more simple than he remembers. Still, it's a half-practical course, which is always excellent. Jim gets to mix his lectures with his command-training; knowing machinery is one thing, but being able to use it is quite another. He impresses upon every cadet that, yes, the tiniest piece of information can and _will_ save your life. If that sort of training succeeds to do so even once, he'll consider his job done.

\- This being said, it's also great fun to watch plebes try to pretend that they haven't just singed their fingers with a soldering tool.

Despite his typical enjoyment of this last class, Jim finds time passing slowly today. He wanders around during the practical session as students grapple with simple conduits – hopefully nothing they can cause even minor explosions with, though he won't get too optimistic – and wishes time would move faster. As an apology for the interruption with Antonia he's promised to have lunch with Spock at their usual cafe down the street.

Spock meets him promptly at the Academy pavilion. Jim raises an eyebrow when he sees him. “Now, that's an interesting look on you. Trying something new?”

Spock looks at him dryly. His hair, usually neatly ordered, is frizzed and jutting stubbornly in different directions. Passing students are side-eyeing them and snickering. “A student of mine may have been overzealous with one of his experiments.”

“And, what, he electrocuted you?”

“I believe we will emphasize magnetic fields in our next lesson.”

“You do that.” Jim grins. “Do you still want to go?”

Spock raises a hand and tries to pull down a few unruly strands unsuccessfully. Jim keeps his face admirably straight as the Vulcan's hair springs back up in direct defiance of gravity. “Certainly,” Spock says.

Their venue is a tiny, warm place often frequented by Academy students. Jim can always tell when students come in for the first time who aren't used to the cafe's lax atmosphere, because these students always spot him or Spock in the corner and do almost comical double-takes. Jim doesn't really understand this. They're instructors, not celebrities. Not that Spock doesn't deserve the respect he's accumulated, of course.

Right now, furrowing his brow skeptically at a bowl of purple and blue noodles – and apparently oblivious to his gravity-defiant hair - Spock doesn't look very much like a highly-respected professor of computers or astrophysics. Much less one renowned throughout the Federation for his research on temporal physics, positronic interfaces, alien pathogens, and more.

Among other things. Jim often loses track of how famous Spock really is.

“A curious piece,” Spock says.

“What?” Jim follows Spock's gaze. He grins. “That it is.” He considers the painting for a moment – a regal depiction of two monarch butterflies floating toward the sun over a writhing, active landscape. Vines and flowers strain toward the sky; a lion reaches vainly for the clouds. “I like it,” he says.

Spock pauses to look at him dubiously.

“No, really. You like art, don't you?”

“I have not had the opportunity to partake of much Earth art.”

“Really?” This startles Jim. It doesn't fit with his impression of Spock at all. “We'll have to go to a gallery sometime.”

“I believe I would find that interesting.”

Time passes quickly – too quickly, maybe. Jim is getting old indeed, when even the toil of teaching seems like such an ordeal. Although, in fairness, his next class has Cadet Fairman.

He tells Spock about this particular trouble as they walk back to the Academy. “You should hear this kid talk, Spock – no respect for anyone, for any culture. I want to send him to Tellarite during his off-planet training, is what needs to be done. They'll shut him up.”

“Giving him a target to vent against hardly seems beneficial,” Spock points out dryly. “There is little point in anger, Jim. He will learn or he will not. He may be a nuisance now, but no one lacking in understanding for other worlds can advance significantly in Starfleet.”

“I wonder, sometimes,” Jim says. “ - Well, you're probably right.” Hopefully. Just thinking about Fairman's blithe comments makes his temples twinge with the start of a headache. “At least I don't have any any grading tonight...” Another not-so glamorous part of teaching.

“Then perhaps you are free to accompany me to the Academy of Sciences tonight?”

“What? Oh – no, Spock. I'm sorry. I'm going out with Antonia, actually – she wants to see _Hamlet.”_

“An interesting choice.”

“Yes, I know. I did mention our – experiences – with that play, but she insisted. I suppose it can't be that bad, and I always liked the story.”

“In that case, I hope you shall enjoy it.”

“Hmm.”

* * *

 

Jim does not enjoy the play.

He does try, in fairness. He really does. He has always appreciated Shakespeare, and _Hamlet_ is an excellent play. Once, he might have enjoyed the show – even enjoyed Antonia's soft arm shifting over to nudge against his own in the darkness. But there are too many memories. People in the audience laugh at Hamlet's bizarre, increasing displays of madness despite the grim aura of the set, but Jim can't find this humor. The actor playing Claudius is an old, balding man with a scruffy beard. His voice booms around the theatre-room. Jim curls his fingers over the arms of the chair and watches the production stonily; Antonia's hand plucks at his wrist like a gnat.

_“The play's the thing_

_“Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king!”_

Jim closes his eyes.

There is thunderous applause at the end. Darkness shifts slowly into light, and the sitting mass of people opens and cracks apart as everyone starts to exit the theatre en-masse.

Antonia is pressing her lips together firmly. She bundles up her jacket and doesn't look at him as they walk away.

His apartment is cold when they arrive. Jim ponders turning up the heat while Antonia yanks off her jacket as though it has personally offended her. More sedately, Jim strips off his own restrictive coat. “Antonia,” he starts.

“Don't. God, what was that, Jim? Every time I feel like we're getting somewhere we start to take two steps back.”

“I told you about the play.”

She acts like he hasn't spoken. “You can't just ignore me like that. Do you know how embarrassing that was?”

Jim takes a fortifying breath. “I _warned_ you,” he repeats. “You can't say you didn't expect it.”

“Well - “

“I did go, Antonia - “

“I'm supposed to give you participation points?”

“Of course not,” he consoles. “I just mean that - “

“Look, I just expect something when we finally have some time to ourselves, alright?”

“It's not that simple - “

“Let's not argue.”

Jim raises his eyebrows.

“We get so little time to be together,” Antonia continues.

“You don't want to argue because you know that - “

Antonia puts an arm over his neck, raising her face to his neck and pressing a kiss against his skin.

“What, did you get bored talking?” Jim asks dryly. He doesn't move as she presses against his unresponsive flesh.

“Maybe.”

“You can't just erase everything like that,” Jim complains, rolling his shoulders away from her touch. He grimaces. But he doesn't turn away when Antonia flutters her fingers up his shirt, stroking over the soft line of his abdomen, then dipping beneath the waist of his pants.

His shoulder are tense and hard, but Jim let's himself be coaxed – turning the touches, maybe, into something rougher and harder then Antonia anticipates. She doesn't seem to mind. This, at least, is something they know how to do.

* * *

 

Jim startles awake to the sound of soft footsteps in the next room. This, in itself, is not so strange. But Antonia is sleeping next to him, her hair fanned out around her head and her arm flung carelessly across his chest. He spares a swift second to calculate possibilities.

He frees his arm from Antonia to reach into the bedside desk and find his hidden phaser. “Spock?” he calls warily.

The shuffling stops.

After a moment, the door to his room slides open. Spock appears in the doorway. “Jim. My apologies, it was not my intention - “

Spock stops. He blinks blankly at the scene in front of him for a frozen instant – though, Jim is sure, Spock has seen him in more embarrassing positions in the past. Jim drops the weapon, watching with curiosity as Spock steps back.

“My apologies,” he says swiftly. “ - Admiral.”

And he is gone.

...Jim leans back his head and stares at the ceiling. There are gray specks on the paint, flaws in the design. Antonia is breathing deep and even against his ear. She has evidently heard nothing.

Jim wonders why Spock was here in the first place.

* * *

 

It's always difficult to tell if Spock is offended or truly disinterested, because of course he sometimes likes to act as though he has no opinion on anything, ever, and that Jim is rude for suggesting otherwise. This especially applies when he _does_ have an opinion and does not actually want to state it, but Jim knows from experience that giving Spock the opportunity to brood is just a bad idea all around.

Which makes it unfortunate that, somehow, Spock is nowhere to be found.

He makes discreet inquiries around campus and is assured that, yes, Spock has been seen today. Frequently. “In fact,” says one student, “I saw him at the computer labs in the Archer building.” “No,” someone else argues immediately after, “He's been working in the library doing research.” Someone else contests: “He's helping Professor Tee-ten with her class - “

Jim resigns himself to not being able to rely on hearsay; Spock can be sneaky when he wants to be.

He finally tracks Spock to the engineering building, where the Vulcan is holding court with an enraptured group of first-year cadets.

“That doesn't even make sense,” one of them is saying. He sounds impressed, though, like he wants Spock to refute him. “The engine would have overheated long before that point - “

Spock glances at Jim. “Admiral,” he greets. The cadets pause, faces falling as they sense the conversation is about to end.

“Spock. Can I talk to you?”

The Vulcan pauses deliberately. He looks at Jim's eyes, then says pointedly, “I always have time to speak with you, Sir.”

“...Good.”

They move out of the building. It isn't often that Jim is at a loss for words. He still isn't precisely sure how he has erred. As they walk, Spock stares ahead carefully. His hands are folded lightly, almost easily behind his back.

Finally, Jim clears his throat and decides just to plunge forward.

“I'm sorry about last night,” he says.

Spock glances at him.

“For what you saw,” Jim clarifies.

Spock turns away.

Jim adds: “I would hate for something so minor as... a little indecency to cause awkwardness.”

“You have misjudged me if you think I am bothered by your state of undress, Admiral.”

“You were bothered by something.” When Spock does not answer: “What was it? The sex?”

“Despite the stereotypes associated with Vulcans, we are not ignorant of that aspect of biology, Admiral.”

“I can't apologize if I don't know how I've offended you.”

“An apology is unnecessary.”

“Something is necessary. You won't look at me, Spock. I'd say that's a problem.”

A small crease seems to form on Spock's brow. “...You have done nothing to me.”

“But there's still a problem.”

Spock doesn't deny this. “I have a class soon, Admiral.”

“Don't do this.”

“We may speak later – if you wish it.”

Spock inclines his head formally and walks away as though the matter is concluded. Jim stares after him and reaches down absently to tug at his shirt-sleeves. If he wishes it.

_If._

* * *

 

Antonia smiles tightly at Jim, and the sunlight glints off the neon-red lipstick that covers her mouth. “I can never figure out what you're thinking, Jim. Why won't you ever just tell me?”

They're sitting together at her hotel room, and Jim doesn't want to be here. He is thinking of another conversation with Spock. _“You keep trying to apologize. Do you even know why, Sir?”_

_“Tell me why.”_

“You act like I'm trying to hide something.”

“Hide, no. But lying by omission - “

“Now that's not fair.”

_“Something is bothering you, Spock. Something I did - “_

_“But nothing that can be changed.”_

_“You won't know unless you tell me what's going on.”_

“Well. Let's not argue,” she says. Jim leans back, crossing his arms. He is starting to hate this phrase.

“I've been talking to an old friend of mine,” Jim says. “He owns some land not too far away – he has a few horses - “

“Oh, you're thinking of buying one, aren't you?” Antonia predicts.

Jim blinks, thrown. “What? No. But two of them are sick and I might visit next week to help out – in case you plan to be making any more surprise visits.”

“I wasn't planning on it.”

Jim shrugs.

_“You would know if it was important.”_

_“Now what does that mean?”_

_“Exactly what I said.”_

_“Don't be like that - “_

“But if you'll be gone next week, we should move up our plans.”

“What plans?”

“Let's go for a picnic this weekend. On Saturday, in the park.”

“Oh. Well...”

“Doesn't that sound nice?”

“It does. It's just,” Jim begins, “I told Spock that we'd meet Saturday to go look around the Mission district – he's interested in the murals there - “

“Oh, well, can't you just reschedule? It's just one day.”

Jim is so surprised by this request that he just blinks. “I'd – rather not,” he begins diplomatically.

“A _day,_ Jim,” she wheedles. “You, me, wine under the stars - “

“Hardly under the stars,” he muses. “That place is surrounded by buildings - “

“ _Jim.”_

“Oh, alright. I – suppose Spock won't mind.”

“Well, of course not,” Antonia says. “He's Vulcan. They never mind. Isn't that nice?”

* * *

 

Spock's expression does not change when Jim tells him about Antonia's request.

“I am not bothered,” he says when Jim asks. “ - a cancellation is no more than I expected.”

Jim frowns. “What does that mean?”

But Spock tilts his head. “Have a good weekend, Admiral.”

Jim and Antonia go to Dolores Park – in the Mission District, Jim notes ironically. But it's a nice enough place. They have a good view of the East Bay from where they sit.

And it is peaceful, reclining on the grass as the sky darkens and the park slowly empties. Antonia curls into his side, twitching her nails against his skin while they hold each other. But his stomach feels cold, and his feet twitch with the urge to move. Like there is danger, here, in the lassitude of the moment.

He looks down and thinks that her skin is very pink.

“Now this is nice,” Antonia says. “Don't you love the stars?”

This seems like a strange thing to say. Of course he does; he assumes she is trying to be romantic. “Beautiful. Like you.”

Antonia traces patterns around his arm with the tip of her finger, leaning against his chest.

“Do you ever regret knowing that you won't go out there again?”

“Who says I won't?”

Antonia huffs and then laughs suddenly. She reaches down and squeezes his wrist. “Well, this is your home now. Of course. You're too old to go gallivanting around the galaxy, _oh great admiral –_ and why would you want to?”

“Why would I want to,” Jim echoes.

“Although I'd like to see Risa, some day,” Antonia continues. “A vacation off-world does sound nice. I've never been, you know.”

“To Risa?” Jim tries to distract himself.

“Off-world, I mean.”

Jim says nothing.

“We all come home in the end, though, don't we?” she asks. “That's where the heart is. Here on earth.”

“...Antonia,” Jim says quietly. “I think we need to talk.”

* * *

 

It is very late by the time he arrives at Spock's apartment. The Vulcan looks perfectly composed when he comes to the door, but he blinks slowly at the sight of Jim. Jim registers very real wariness in Spock's eyes. “Admiral. I thought you were with - “

“Can I come in?” Jim interrupts.

Spock observes Jim clinically for a moment. Then he steps aside.

The apartment is hot and Spock does not offer to lower the temperature. “Is there something you wished to discuss?” he prompts. Knowing, of course, full well that there is.

“Sometimes,” Jim says, “I want to strangle you.”

Spock raises an eyebrow patiently.

“You couldn't have just told me?”

“You will have to clarify - “

“You didn't like me spending time with Antonia.”

Spock pauses. He turns away suddenly, and steps close to a bookshelf on the side of the main room as though he is ready to examine it. “ - It would not be my place to say who you can or cannot associate with, Admiral.”

“You're always entitled to an opinion, Spock. And feelings.”

“There is no need to be hurtful,” Spock demurs.

Jim purses his lips and steps closer. “ - I told Antonia that things are over, you know.”

“...Did you?”

“I realized I really didn't want to be with her after all. Or to be more specific, I was always wishing I was with someone else.”

Spock runs his fingers over the spine of a faded red book. He does not look at Jim. “For you, a year is an unusual amount of time to be in such a relationship – I had begun to wonder about your intentions.”

“My intentions are always serious, Spock. But it takes more than that.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

Spock opens a book and starts to leaf through the pages.

“...You know,” Jim says. “One day I'll get tired of teaching at the Academy, or they'll be tired of me.”

Spock seems to anticipate him. “I expect you will find ways to divert yourself. Surely you are not restless already, Jim.”

“No. No, I'm not. What do you think I'll do, Spock?”

“Travel. Find a ship of your own, perhaps – or at least take very frequent visits to new worlds.”

“And would you make those visits with me?”

Spock turns, at last, to flick a glance at his eyes. “ - If you desired it.”

Jim spreads his hands. “Spock. A year is the longest amount of time I've invested in a relationship in... decades. But it didn't mean much. I think I was kidding myself, trying to make it work. We've worked together for more than twenty years – you followed me from the Enterprise to Earth. Tell me what this is really about. Don't make me guess.”

The silence stretches on.

Spock starts with a question he doesn't expect: “Did you never wonder why T'Pring challenged me, Sir?”

They have never spoken of that day. Perhaps this is strange; but Jim still remembers the awkward glances, Spock's shame laid bare before the sands of Vulcan. For his private friend the ordeal was too much to relive; it surprises Jim, now, that Spock is the one to discuss it again. “ - She explained herself well, didn't she? Bones told me her reasons later.”

“The polite ones,” Spock says. “Logical ones. There are other reasons which are not so openly discussed – though I admit, even so I did not expect her response.”

Jim isn't sure where this is going.

He experiences a moment of deja vu, though, watching Spock clench his fists behind his back and breath deeply in an apparent appeal for control. At length Spock continues: “She challenged me because she sensed, even through the distance of our betrothal bond, that I was an unfit mate. Because I burned without direction for the first time.”

“I thought that was the point.”

“It should have been focused – I should have desired her specifically, but I did not.” Spock actually clenches his jaw, pressing his lips together briefly. Jim feels a thread of ice run down his spine in response to this blatant emotionalism. “As I should have desired her before the fever – but I did not. Nor did I desire anyone else after.”

He waits. It seems like a confession, of some sort. Jim hesitates. “ - Which... isn't a Vulcan trait?” he checks cautiously.

Spock gives him a long look and shakes his head. Well.

“I'm sorry. I'm not sure I understand.”

“There was a discomfort. During the fever. Like a fire – but it left, after, and I have not felt anything similar since that time. I do not think I would want to feel it again, though I find it likely that I will. But more strangely that drive was... aimless. Formless. I should have desired T'Pring and I _did not.”_

“And that's a problem?” Jim asks. “She didn't want you, either.”

“Not at the end, perhaps.” says Spock. “Sometimes I wonder why.”

“Not because of anything you did,” Jim says sharply.

“Perhaps.” Spock pauses. “After, I had mixed impressions of T'Pring. I could not make sense of the fever – it had dissipated completely, and my memories were confused. And this - complicated matters.”

“I can see how it would.”

“It complicated matters that were already difficult,” Spock presses. “Because how could I possibly expect any mate to accept a partner who lacked such a basic requirement?”

Jim frowns.

“I thought - “ Spock says slowly, and Jim has never seen Spock look so rigid, so utterly Vulcan and yet utterly vulnerable. “- that you would be – an ideal mate. But. I could not have offered what you needed – even were you amenable. Nor could I have stood by, in such an arrangement, while my own mate sought other partners. I have accepted that I have no recourse but to be alone, Jim, and I understand why it is necessary.”

“Let me just – be sure I'm understanding this,” Jim says slowly. “You want to be with me. You don't want me to sleep with other people – but you don't want sex, either.”

Spock tilts his head toward the ground, avoiding Jim's gaze. “I am aware that I have no right to presume - “

“Spock. You have _every_ right.”

Spock's shoulders go rigid.

“You know that I'd do anything you asked – anything to - “ Jim stops himself from saying, _anything to make you happy,_ but the idea lingers.

“I will not have you act out of some notion of guilt - “

“There is no guilt. I don't need sex; I do need you. It isn't even a competition.”

“I could not ask - “

“I'm offering.” Jim steps closer. “Here's my question, Spock. In all your logical decisions, did it ever occur to you to actually think about what I _really_ wanted? Not about the fact that 'everyone' wants sex – did you think about James Kirk?”

Finally Spock twitches his head, turning to look at Jim in confusion.

“Because mostly, I just want you,” Jim says. “ - In fact I think you're more than enough to keep me happy. We can probably work with that, don't you think?”

The sound of their mingled breath fills the room. Spock bridges the rest of the distance between their bodies, and Jim reaches up to touch his shoulder. Spock is looking at him without any apparent change of expression, but Jim can feel the beginnings of a smile breaking over the corners of his lips.

“...Perhaps,” Spock says, “We can find a suitable compromise.”

* * *

 

San Francisco can be damp and hazy in general, and is often covered in fog during the spring when the temperatures start to rise and moisture is sapped into a low smog. Today the clouds are rolling in low and cold. Jim squints against the horizon in a vain search for the sun.

“Come on,” he says finally, turning to Spock. “We don't want to be late.”

The ferry is quiet when they arrive. Waves lap gently at the sides of the ship. Seagulls wheel overhead and cry their shrill demands to punctuate the morning stillness as their ferry ships away. Even this occasional interjection becomes rare as they go further from land; eventually, only the rushing water can be heard.

Jim leans against the side of the boat. “Oh, good – the clouds are disappearing.”

Spock presses against his side. They stare into the sky, salt-spray splashing up to skid over their shoes. Unbroken light peers out of the sky as the clouds start to part, and pure, marine-blue fields unveil as they sail slowly into the horizon.


End file.
